Had a fun night out yesterday. Went to see Ellinor Blixt again, this time performing under the name of "It's A Musical" together with two german guys, Robert and Markus. Read as: awesome three-piece. Absolutely deserving of an audience much larger than the one that evening, though the enthusiasm of the few can well make up for the indifference of the many. I sincerely wish they end up with the best of both on the coming days of their tour.
Bert and Ella both signed the 12" I bought afterwards (the vinyl nerd in the making likes 180g pressings! ^^) with very, very neat handwriting. A cute heart next to a big "Thank You!!!" does not exactly help with my fully-grown crush on this lovely lady though. I cannot help but widely smile whenever I picture her hopping around behind her huge Yamaha organ. Geez, silly heart, where did you hang out during my teenage years? I should have actually grown up by now, like live in the real world 'n stuff ...
So yeah.
I am back to the daily grind of preparing for my exams now and I could do better, too. Today has been a bummer in parts, tomorrow therefore shall be filled with more satisfying achievements. As for the rest of tonight, Olov Antonsson is on. Whiskey is in the jar. Madeleine Street is right beneath my window sill ...
On aspects of idiocy, I am sometimes off the scale.
I nearly got myself killed jumping in front of oncoming traffic while crossing the street this morning. Whatever had me hurry that badly into university I forgot though on wondering who are all these strange new people? once I made it to lecture ...
Surprise moron. A full two hours early.
The actual dumbass moment though was that this has happened before.
Surprise moron. A full two hours early.
The actual dumbass moment though was that this has happened before.
I do not dream that often.
So last night was unsettling.
I clearly remember voicing my utter confidence in all of what was taking place being real - because I am not asleep see! - about half-way through, talking to some non-descript individual while peeing into a urinal in a place I have certainly never seen before, with strange tiling, during a time of year roughly six months from now. I had already floated around a home that was not my own, yet felt like it, covered in fur and tied to helium balloons by then. It started with someone I know and admire sending me intimate e-mail and ended with familiar strangers taking delight in colourful patterns from an ever flickering slide projector, someone yelling "screw that beamer" at the moment I jolted up in bed and thought crap - there was no e-mail, never. Said intricate plotline also revolved around scene rehearsals of a film with no title and less budget, plus an actor whose face and outfit have me remember at just this moment the real-world imagery making up that part. The place would fit, although the strange door leading to it could be furniture of an Orient Express carriage, now that I think it through ...
So yeah.
Most obviously I could not resist the urge to start doing this again. I see where it stems from. Thoughts racing, each with its own denial, zooming past in pairs. And in the middle I sit, fishing for significance, knowing perfectly well that this approach has failed before. Beckett said you might fail better every time you try again though. I shall see where this leads.
That is the point where we throw self-reference out of the window and sincerely hope it does not have legs.
I clearly remember voicing my utter confidence in all of what was taking place being real - because I am not asleep see! - about half-way through, talking to some non-descript individual while peeing into a urinal in a place I have certainly never seen before, with strange tiling, during a time of year roughly six months from now. I had already floated around a home that was not my own, yet felt like it, covered in fur and tied to helium balloons by then. It started with someone I know and admire sending me intimate e-mail and ended with familiar strangers taking delight in colourful patterns from an ever flickering slide projector, someone yelling "screw that beamer" at the moment I jolted up in bed and thought crap - there was no e-mail, never. Said intricate plotline also revolved around scene rehearsals of a film with no title and less budget, plus an actor whose face and outfit have me remember at just this moment the real-world imagery making up that part. The place would fit, although the strange door leading to it could be furniture of an Orient Express carriage, now that I think it through ...
So yeah.
Most obviously I could not resist the urge to start doing this again. I see where it stems from. Thoughts racing, each with its own denial, zooming past in pairs. And in the middle I sit, fishing for significance, knowing perfectly well that this approach has failed before. Beckett said you might fail better every time you try again though. I shall see where this leads.
That is the point where we throw self-reference out of the window and sincerely hope it does not have legs.
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